Iron Tide Rising by Carrie Ryan
As they skidded closer, Fin caught sight of movement along the far bridges. He squinted, trying to get a better look, just as a belch of fire enveloped one of the guard posts. The bridge was alive with fighting and flame. The Citadel was under attack!
“What’s going on down there?” he shouted over the whoosh of the wind.
Serth looked back at him immediately. There was no confusion in his eyes—no moment of hesitation while he struggled to place Fin in his memory. Serth simply remembered him, just as he always had. As terrifying as the wizard was and as much as Fin missed Ardent, he had to admit that it was nice not being forgotten.
“I’m… not sure,” Serth admitted. The stony look on the wizard’s face faltered for just a moment. “I’m not used to being unsure.”
Fin felt a tug of sympathy as he gripped the rope tighter. It must have been difficult for Serth. Not long ago, he’d known the future, everything that would happen crammed into his head by the Stream water he drank. Now, all that was gone. He was back to normal. If that term had ever really applied to the wizard.
Then again, this was the same Serth who’d set free the Lost Sun of Dzannin. The same Serth who’d used the Wish Machine of Monerva to create the wish orb that transformed Ardent into the Master of the Iron Ship. In a sense, literally everything that had happened was his fault—up to and including the Iron Tide taking the Parsnickles. Fin could only feel so bad for him.
“Nearly at the bottom!” Remy shouted, breaking him out of the thought. “Get ready!”
Fin held on tight. The tip of the stalactite was just below them. And below it, nothing but empty space between them and the hanging Citadel. He looked to Marrill, who nodded, then back to Fig, who gave him a thumbs-up. Cold wind whipped at his hair. His struggled not to get dizzy as the ship’s spirals tightened.
“Ready,” he confirmed.
“Cut the mizzen sail free, now!” Remy yelled. Above, brave pirats, tied to their masts with twine, reached out and snipped the bindings holding one of the aft sails in place.
Immediately, the wind grabbed it, whipping it up into a balloon shape. Each corner was still tied to a rope, however, and Fin’s eyes traced one of them down to where it looped around his waist. The slack in it began to disappear, getting ready to snap taut as the balloon-sail billowed up and off of the ship.
“Here we goOOOOOOOOO!!!!” he yelled. The rope yanked him into the air. Marrill and Fig lifted up with him, Serth on the far corner. The four of them dangled from the makeshift parachute, drifting away from the Kraken as the wizard muttered and waved his hands. Fortunately, unlike Ardent, Serth and the wind seemed to be on good terms.
“Mainsail, now!” Remy shrieked behind them. Sails flared as the Kraken hit the end of the stalactite, popping off at just the right angle to send the ship flying. Several seconds later, the Kraken splashed safely down into the dangling moat below.
Cold cavern breezes sent shivers up Fin’s arms as the makeshift parachute winged them downward toward the hanging Citadel.
It was like dropping into the bloom of a thistle—if that thistle were under attack. Shouts from the battle drifted toward them, but so far it seemed as if the invading army was confined to the outer bridges.
Fin was too far away to see much more than swarms of soldiers crashing against each other and bodies plummeting from the narrow bridges toward the Stream-water moat below. He couldn’t exactly tell which side was winning, but the front of the invading army seemed to be shifting closer and closer to the Citadel.
From the look of things, it wouldn’t be long before they overtook the hanging fortress itself.
Fin swallowed uneasily. He hoped Serth was a quick packer; they wouldn’t have much time to gather his things once they landed.
Beneath them, Flight-of-Thorns grew larger and larger. Its hard stone surface stretched before them, stuttered with sharp edges, unbroken but for a single square of light—the entrance they were aiming for. A steady drizzle of water streamed into it from the stalactite above.
Fin eyed it dubiously. The entrance was small—smaller than Fin had figured. Just barely large enough for one person to fit through. Maybe. He didn’t see any way all four of them could parachute into it.
“Prepare yourselves,” Serth warned them.
“Prepare ourselves for what?” Marrill yelled.
Before Fin could even yelp, Serth flicked his hand. A massive gust of wind blew up beneath one side of the sail-parachute, sending it off kilter. All at once, it collapsed, sending all four of them plummeting.
The little opening passed in a blur and a scream. Fin tumbled, tangling in the parachute. He saw
light,
the white of the sail,
a brief flash of unhappy faces.
And then
S P L A S H!
He was soaked, surrounded by water, wrapped in sail, tangled in ropes, fighting, pummeling, struggling to get free. Hands grabbed at him. His feet struck bottom. The rope from his waist came free. The sail slid away.
His head broke the surface, and he hauled in a mighty gasp.
“Fin!” Fig’s voice sounded in his ear. She tugged at his arm. “Come on, fast.”
Fin blinked. They floated in a mat of white sail, bobbing in a pool in the middle of a huge chamber. Columns were everywhere. Overhead, a massive marble statue of Serth loomed over them. The whole place was horribly familiar.
Behind him, someone cleared their throat. Fin twisted, finding a crowd of very unhappy-looking people, all dressed in the distinctive purple robes of the Meressian Order, standing around the edge of the pool. One of them, a big ox of a man, snorted and shook his head in disgust.
“Hey, Bull Face!” Fin cried, recognizing the big brute who’d chased him through the Meressian ship back at the Khaznot Quay so long ago.
“Shhh!” Fig hissed, pulling him into the shadow of the statue dominating the far side of the chamber. She slipped up and over the rim of the pool, keeping herself flat. “They’re distracted,” she whispered. “Come on. Let’s hurry up and find that magical knife so we can get out of here.”
Fin swallowed a laugh. As forgettable as he was—and Fig, too—he had a hard time believing the Meressians wouldn’t notice that entry. Then again, he realized, they were mostly looking up past the statue. And he quickly saw why. Serth, dark robe waving around him, floated down like a leaf on the breeze, landing gently on the opposite side of the pool. He folded his hands together calmly, as though a falling sail full of children hadn’t just plummeted into the room ahead of him.
A tall, thorn-skinned Meressian stepped forward from the crowd. Fin recognized him, too, from the ship in the Khaznot Quay. He’d only briefly laid eyes on the spiny Meressian then, but here there was no doubt he was the leader.
“The Oracle,” said a voice like crushed glass. His barbed skin flexed dangerously. “And I was just saying things couldn’t get worse.”
“Okay, maybe they are distracted,” Fin whispered. “And it looks like they may be a while.” He didn’t want to stick around any longer than they had to, but first he had to check on Marrill.
He found her clinging to the rim of the pool just behind Serth. She caught his eye and smiled. He pressed his fingers to his lips and then fluttered them in front of him, their secret sign language for him sneaking away while everyone forgot about him. Or, as Marrill called it, “going all Fin on them.” She nodded, giving him a subtle thumbs-up.
“Hello, Hedgecaw,” Serth said, sounding imperious, his chin lifted high. “So good to see you again. How long has it been?”
It was the perfect cue to get moving. Fig took the lead, sneaking around one of the folds of the big stone robe. Fin slipped out of the pool and followed, throwing a cautious glance over his shoulder. There must have been fifty Meressians filling the chamber. Beyond them, the great doors to the cavern outside were propped open, with more Meressians standing guard. Each was armed to the teeth, all beetle-shell armor, long trip-glaives, and a string of shriek-slingers
From the other direction, a steady stream of Meressians flooded in through hallways, racing out from the depths of the Citadel to join the battle. But as they reached the great statue, they ground to a halt. Suddenly, the assault on their fortress was forgotten. Instead, they, like everyone else in the chamber, seemed completely fixated on Serth. Which made it a perfect distraction for two Fade kids.
Fin grabbed Fig by the hand and made a quick dash into the crowd. A Meressian frowned down as they pushed by her, but Fin immediately whirled around, craning his neck like he, too, was gawking at Serth. Fig did the same, letting out only a quick giggle. Together, they slowly walked backward, casually making their way through the maze of bodies, before darting into the nearest hallway.
They soon found themselves in a much smaller side chamber that was blessedly empty but for a purple banner strung along the far wall. The Meressian motto was emblazoned across it: GUARD AGAINST IT AND PREVENT IT.
Good work with that, Fin thought to himself. Despite the Meressians’ efforts, every bit of the Prophecy had come to pass.
He popped his head into the corridor, hoping to spot a break in the traffic. But the flow of Meressian soldiers seemed pretty constant. “Looks like we’ll have to keep sneaking our way through the rest of this place.”
Fig gave him a wink. “Maybe not.” She checked both ways, then reached up and yanked the banner from the wall. With a swift move, she tore it down the middle and draped half around her neck.
“Ta-da!” she announced. “Instant Meressian!”
Fin laughed, wrapping himself in the other half. It wasn’t the best disguise—for most spies, running around with a torn flag on your shoulders was probably worse than nothing. But for forgettable kids in a fortress under full alert? It was perfect.
“Spiff!” Fin said. “That’s one problem solved.” He looked around, thinking on the next big problem—how to find the Evershear. It wasn’t like there were signs reading THIS WAY TO KNIFE THAT CAN CUT ANYTHING.
Of course, it occurred to him that a knife that can cut anything would be pretty useful if your fortress was currently under attack. It might be exactly the type of thing you’d want to have on hand.
He waited until a Meressian passed by who fit just the right profile—youngish, with the look of authority, but an uncertainty that said he was new in the ranks. Then Fin struck.
“Did you bring it?” he demanded, jumping in front of the Meressian. The boy, barely out of his teens, went wide eyed, like a scared beaver. “The Evershear.” Fin held out a hand. “You brought it, didn’t you?”
“I—uh, I, wha—” the boy stammered.
Fin let out an exaggerated, exhausted sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding. Hedgecaw needs the Evershear now! The Oracle is here. He trusted you to get it!”
The kid looked both ways, seeking help or reassurance, but finding neither. “I, I don’t…”
Fin rolled his eyes in the most exasperated fashion he could imagine. “Fine, I’ll do it. Just tell me where you left it. I’ll even tell him you sent me because I like you, you know? You’re not mean like the other—” He paused, making a guess at what Meressians might use for ranks. “Seekers?”
“Oh, th-thank you,” the boy gushed. “But, I didn’t have the Evershear. It’s still in the outer galleries, far as I know.”
“Right,” Fin said. “The outer galleries, which are thaaaaat waaaay?” He slowly trailed one finger across every possible direction.
The boy nodded as he reached the right one. “Yes, yes. Fourteenth row up, looking out over the archway bridge.” He stiffened, falling into the role of commander giving an order. “Be quick now!”
Fin gave what he hoped looked like a military salute, then quickly ducked away. Fig slipped out after him, and together they darted deeper into the Citadel.
Flight-of-Thorns was a maze of interconnected cells; there was no way they could have navigated it on their own. Fortunately, the same trick seemed to work without fail on other Meressians; seven interviews, sixteen flights of stairs, and a long looping hallway covered in displays later, and Fin found himself in a empty room, a single glass display case between him and a rose-stained window. He approached the case carefully. Inside, an ornate bone handle perched gingerly between two pediments. Beneath it rested a glass cylinder.
Outside, the shouting and sounds of battle had reached a crescendo. The invading force must be getting close. Whatever was going on, Fin was pretty sure he and Fig didn’t want to get caught in the middle of a siege. They needed to grab the Evershear and get out, fast.
“Security’s slack,” Fig said, examining the case for a moment before popping it open from behind.
Fin laughed, remembering the traps the Meressians had used in their Temple Ship. “Sneeze Breeze again?”
“Nope.” Fig held up a little pink crystal. It shifted oddly in the light, forcing Fin to squint. Without thinking, he took a step toward it. Fig clapped her hand shut around it, breaking him out of the trance.
“Eyecatcher,” he groaned to himself. A little bit closer and he would have been in the market for a patch. He breathed a sigh of relief and studied the now-open case. The bone within certainly looked like the hilt of a knife, and the glass cylinder beneath looked like a sheath. But where was the blade?
Fin held out his hands, shaking his arms to limber them. If this really was the Evershear, he kind of doubted a single eyecatcher was the only guard on it. “Keep watch,” he told Fig. “I’ll perform the extraction.”
While she checked the doorway, Fin gingerly reached into the case. Carefully, he lifted the bone handle a few centimeters and paused, every nerve humming, prepared for a trap. But nothing happened.
“Huh,” he said. He stared at it, waiting for some sort of alarm, while Fig paced back across the room to the window. Still there was nothing. “Well, that was uneventful,” he said, turning the handle sideways as he withdrew it.
There was a sharp schnik, and the display case fell clean apart, right along the path where his hand had moved.
Fin stared down at the bone hilt. A thin sliver of silver stuck out from it now, an edge so sharp that it seemed to cut the very air itself, causing a slight haze whenever he moved it. He turned it to one side, and the blade practically vanished.
Fin let out a deep breath. “We’ll have to be careful with this,” he murmured. He tossed the bisected display case until he found the glass cylinder that had been resting beneath the knife. Sure enough, it was designed to attach to the handle and flare out, so the blade would never touch it. It took Fin a fair amount of concentration to slip the blade inside. One twitch the wrong way and the Evershear would cut right through the glass scabbard.
When he had the blade sheathed, he spun toward Fig to show off the new toy. “Hey, check it out!”
But Fig didn’t move. She stood frozen, her shadow dark against the red stained glass.
“Fig?” Fin asked. Outside, shouts and clangs of battle raged onward, growing closer by the minute. The invaders, Fin realized, must have almost breached the Citadel.
“It’s them,” Fig whispered. Slowly, she looked at him. Her dark hair fell across her face, but it only half masked the terror in her eyes. She pointed out the window.
“Fin,” she said. “It’s the Rise.”
CHAPTER 5
War and Peace (but Mostly War)
Marrill coughed, sputtering water out as she struggled to get her bearings. She was floating in a fountain in the middle of a huge chamber. Angry purple-clad soldiers surrounded the pool. Serth drifted down from the air in front of her, his feet coming to rest on dry stone.
“The Oracle,” said a voice like rusting metal. “And I was just saying things couldn’t get worse.”
Marrill kicked to the edge of the pool, her feet finding the bottom at last. She looked around. On the far side of the chamber, under the shadow of a huge statue, she caught sight of Fin. He winked and gave her the sign that said he was about to go all Fin on them
“Hello, Hedgecaw,” Serth said, regaining her attention. “So good to see you again. How long has it been?”
The man Serth addressed—if he could be called that—had green-tinged skin and light purple eyes. More notably, he was covered in sharp thorns from his throat to the tip of his bald pate. More thorns pushed through the back of his velvet gloves, which flexed with the crack of his knuckles.
He looked like the definition of unhappy.
“A hundred and thirteen years,” he snarled. His eyes fell on Marrill. She swiped the waterlogged hair off her forehead and did her best to smile. He did not smile back. “I see you’ve brought a friend. Branched out to kidnapping children?” He shook his head sadly. “Funny, I don’t recall that being part of the Prophecy.”
Serth quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t know why. I did it in four separate verses,” he muttered. “But this isn’t one of them.” His back straightened. “The Prophecy has ended, and I’m here to gather my things you’ve so assiduously collected. Hand them over, and we’ll be on our way.”
The Meressians glared at one another warily. Their hands lingered by strange weapons. There was a deadly look in their eyes.
Marrill shivered, and not just from the cold water trailing down the nape of her neck. Somewhere beyond the crowd, she could hear the clang of metal on metal, the yelps of fighting. An increasing stream of armed soldiers poured through the chamber. Some stopped and joined the crowd around them; others pushed through to join the battle outside. The guards at the door yelled regularly, and more Meressians reluctantly peeled away to join the fight.
Marrill sensed the Meressians had been on edge before their sworn enemy had dropped in through the sunroof. At any minute they could decide that Marrill and Serth—or as they called him, the Oracle—were too much trouble and attack. Someone had to do something to break the tension. She took a deep breath, thinking about what her mother would do.